Alaska, Summer 2021
by Evan Twarog
Part 1: Sitka
Sitka is one of the rainiest towns in the US, and it seemed like an especially tough place to be during the pandemic. When it’s good, it must be unimaginably good. The rest of the time, it seems like it could chip away at the soul. Perhaps unsurprisingly, Reid seemed worn when I showed up. Over pizza he lamented;
“I hate those XtraTuf’s because I now associate them with that sense of sloth that I couldn’t pull myself out of during this past winter”
We each hurt in different ways. I had spent the winter curled up with anxiety. He had grieved deeply after losing a best friend. I had been gripped by fear that my previous job would return to end me. He had survived working for a massively toxic boss. I had slowly pulled myself together after losing Grandpa.
Both of us needed this trip.
We also both needed each other’s friendship more than ever. A huge part of our bond was dreaming up trips and adventures and stories. Creativity is a good measure of health since it requires a certain degree of stability and inspiration. At the Academy, we fed off each other’s creativity. He would whip out his camera frequently, publish his own website, and regularly took on a slew of other creative projects.
During the spring of our senior year, we dreamed big things of future projects and trips after graduation, but some of those ambitions seemed to fade as soon as we got to our first job. Now, sitting in Baranof Island Brewing Company, I yearned for a future where all those schemes Reid and I dreamed up two years before were realized. This trip was a step towards reclaiming those dreams.
I could not wait to get underway.
Part 2: The BealerS
We’d be sailing a 25’ wooden Scandinavian folkboat named Kachina after the Hopi deities for good spirits. My god, she’s a beauty. Every joint, every seam was beautifully built with a type of love that can’t be mass-produced. She’d lived a good life up to this point, and hopefully we’d prove ourselves worthy of her affection. At one point, I struggled to fit the wooden later down into the cabin back into place. Reid offered;
“If you’re forcing it, you’re doing something wrong.”
Kachina had been built for cold waters using a type of construction called glued-wood seam. Her notes from previous owners showed that she “makes like a basket in warmer climates like Florida, Texas and California.” Don’t even think about taking the Alaska out of her.
I’d come to learn through Reid that Kachina had belonged previously to the Bealers, a legendary couple that lived up the coast on Yakobi before they passed away a few years ago. I’m never going to be the right person to put words to the Bealer’s legacy. I’m an outsider. I never knew them, visited their cabin on Yakobi Island or touched their art. I’d like to think this article does a pretty good job at touching that legacy, but a single article can never do a human being justice.
When I got to Sitka, Reid gave me the grand tour of the town, and he boasted about the community there;
“Everyone just does their own thing, and everyone is just okay with it.”
The Bealer legacy seems to embody this, and you could tell that it resonated with Reid. This attitude had radiated from Reid in the four years that I’d called him my best friend, and it was funny to see him in the backdrop of a community that held that same energy. Sitka is for people who want to do their own shit, and they’re gonna do their own shit well.
What’s clear to me is that the Bealers lived life distinctly on their own terms, and that’s something I’ll forever admire. There are some people who live with a certain courage, a certain voraciousness. That energy radiates for decades after they’ve died in the souls they’ve touched. The Bealers were two of those people, and Reid is cut from the same cloth. It’s only appropriate that he has come to own a piece of their legacy.
I knew I’d be just fine sailing with Reid and Kachina.
Part 3: Turning Inside
We took off from Sitka like a bat outta hell and were pushing hard on our first day. We were hoping to cover an ambitious 65NM of distance by taking advantage of favorable weather to get all the way up to White Sulfur Springs. On paper, we were hoping to thread the needle before heavier weather moved in at the end of the week. Reid and I are good about sticking to our precooked plans, and we had worked out all the math in our heads.
The plan was to leave bright and early and motor up and into Salisbury Sound on the north side of Kruzof Island. From there, we’d set sail. The wind predictions were for 20-25kts out of the south and 7-10ft seas as we pushed out into the Gulf of Alaska. Wind was setting up to be perfect, and if the seas were following, then they would be manageable (by Reid’s standards).
This all held up to a certain extent until we got to Salisbury Sound. Even though we’d banked on motoring at 5kts and were only averaging 3.5, we were unconcerned since there were bailout points along the way north. The landscape surrounding Salisbury Sound is impressive, with steep mountains lining every side of the bay. The rugged mountains are well-worn over millennia from weathering the brunt of the Gulf’s forces.
Setting sail our first time was not as smooth as either of us would like, largely because it was my first time doing it with Reid. As a one-person team, Reid is dialed, but that first time is a new experience for both of us. In calm waters where we were, it was a little comical, but I held an awareness of how narrow those margins could grow in heavy seas.
Pushing out further and further, we started to see those 6-7ft seas that the predictions had called for. Kachina’s cockpit is almost at the waterline, and looking up at waves overhead for the first-time is admittedly a nerve wracking experience. The seas were building and I could feel that lump of fear in the back of my throat. There was no way to train, to prepare, to feel ready for this, and I was in over my head. The boat healed over hard with the wind continuing to kick harder and harder. We were moving fast through the water. My gut screamed “get out of this.”
Well-worn relationships have defaults, and in that moment we defaulted back to our norm. I was conservative, and Reid was holding fast. I wanted to duck out. We should take the inside.
“I don’t think I want to do this.”
“What do you mean? This trip?”
“No. Going outside. I’m so sorry, man.”
I could see the pain in his eyes of not getting up to Pelican. A day before, we had shared a conversation about how incredible it would be:
“You have no idea what it would mean to so many people to see that boat go through there.”
“Let’s make it happen.”
We would not be taking Kachina through Pelican. We were both heart-broken in different ways. I questioned if I had “chickened out” too soon, or if it had been the rational decision. My heart ached knowing how badly Reid wanted to sail through those waters. His soul had been crushed over and over during the last two years, and this was the latest dagger stabbed in his heart. I did not want to be the one holding it.
But there we were. I was holding the bloodied knife in my hands, and we were sailing towards calmer waters. It was probably the toughest moment we shared in our friendship, and I was wondering if it would even survive the trip.
Part 4: Suloia Island
Travel by sailboat is intimately tied to the elements. The winds have to be right, the seas not too big, and the currents favorable. The currents through Sturgis Narrows are renowned for their intensity, and we would not be able to motor through if we did not time our navigation right. As we approached the Narrows, the prediction called for 6kts of current working against us. Our maximum speed when motoring was five. We would need to wait a couple hours to pass through them.
We dropped the hook to wait for calmer currents next to Suloia Island, a small rock island just south of the Narrows. Even here, the currents swirled around us, and we kept a watchful eye to ensure the anchor was holding. The anchor line hummed quietly with strain as the current tugged at Kachina.
All around us, Black Rockfish were feeding off the surface, and naturally, we dropped a line in the water. Emotions were still charged after turning back inside just a few hours earlier, and we did not say much. The only sounds were the rush of water against Kachina and the clicking fishing reel searching for a bite. After about a half-hour, one of the rockfish bit, and we earned ourselves some dinner.
Everything about that day was emotionally raw, just like the environment we found ourselves in.
Part 5: Deep Bay
Waking up in Deep Bay the morning after turning inside, our emotions had been partially reset. A gentle fog blanketed the water’s surface as the sun rose slowly. Reid has a way of taking pride in life’s little things. He’ll brag about his cornbread (I still haven’t gotten a damn piece), how he keeps his tools sharpened, and most importantly, how he can make a good cup of coffee. We sipped our coffee that morning slowly and deeply as we motored out of the bay.
Reid had been relatively mute ever since turning inside, but at the end of the day, Reid is Reid. He won’t/can’t pass up on an opportunity to mess with someone, even in the Alaskan bush. Motoring from the bay, he saw a chance to mess with the crew on his old boat, Kukui.
The light beacon at the entrance to Deep Bay was covered with bush on the north side (away from anyone passing in the main channel to the south) and saw an opportunity to mess with those on his old boat.
“Sector Juneau, Sector Juneau this is Sailing Vessel Kachina on Channel 16.”
“Sailing Vessel Kachina, Sector Juneau, go ahead.”
“I’d like to report an ATON Discrepancy in the Vicinity of Deep Bay.”
“Green Light ‘1’ at the Mouth of Deep Bay. There is vegetation blocking the north side of the light.”
Kukui would have to clear the side of the light that nobody needed.
“Bos’n is gonna be so pissed off I called this in.”
All the while, he had a shit-eating grin plastered on his face. With that bit of mischief out of his system, we cruised along the northern coast of Baranof Island. Blue sky overhead, and the sunlight keeping us warm.
Part 6: The Broken Tiller
Luck is an unpredictable resource, and it’s best not to rely on it. A couple hours later, Reid and I swapped off on the steering tiller and as he leaned into it, the damn thing snapped in half. We were both a bit dumbfounded. Did that really just happen? Reid stood there with half the tiller in his hands while I hopped back on the remaining nub. We weren’t in danger, so it didn’t register as an emergency at that moment, but it was definitely a… Problem.
Sometimes there’s almost a sense of relief when the first bit of bad luck falls on a trip. That’s when the adventure starts, and the sooner you can get the bad luck “out of the system,” the better off you are the rest of the trip.
That bad luck had occurred in flat-calm waters on a sunny day. Hard to beat the circumstances. There was a long while where we motored along in silence. We were each thinking about different options of how the next few steps would play out. Reid broke the silence with;
“I know what we’re going to do.”
Reid gets this sparkle in his eyes when he gets an idea. When that happens, it’s best to go with whatever is brewing up there in that dense skull of his. He’s unstoppable when his eyes light up like that. I wasn’t sure what that entailed, but Reid seemed to have a clear picture in his mind. We pointed our nose towards Appleton Cove down the coast.
We’d figure it out. We always had before.
Part 7: Recipe Card - Fixing a Broken TilleR
Ingredients:
A few mouth-fulls of no-see-ems
Too many Tuna and Cheddar Sandwiches
A revolver and some bear spray. Complement by yelling “HEEEEYYYY BEAR” every few minutes while wandering the woods
One small tree (~4” in diameter)
All the cutting tools on the boat. Sawzall, axe, hatchet, sharpening tools and drill
Prime workin’ stump to shape the tiller on
Two dudes with nothing better to be doing
Some sweat, bull-headedness, cursing, and trust
Directions:
Row Ashore: This may sound obvious, but once anchored in a protected cove, you’ll need to head ashore. Bring tools to fell a small tree, some bear spray, and maybe a revolver. Be careful not to poke a hole in the inflatable raft by dropping an ax or drill bit onto it.
Find a Tree: Listen for a tree that speaks to you. You may walk past a dozen or two before finding the one. Before felling it, offer it your thanks and gratitude for its offering. You’re lucky to be here.
Fell and Debark it: Simple enough. Try not to hurt yourself in the process too. Help is a long way away if you screw it up.
Sniff out a Workin’ Stump: Ideally, find a nice spot on the beach where you’re close to the boat so you can grab a snack or extra tools when they’re needed. You’re also looking for a solid little workin’ stump that will make your life easy.
Start Working it Down: Have one dude playing the role of human clamp while the other whittles and carves down the new tiller. It helps if “the other” has a vision in mind for what it needs to look like. “The clamp” may choose to also fill the role of “the encourager” if appropriate. Use good judgment though. Some tips as you work it down:
Save Battery Power. You sure as hell need to save some power to drill the hole at the very end. The rest can be worked by hand if needed.
Tuna and Cheddar Sandwiches make life generally better.
Pack lots of deet for the no-see-ems. Those bastards will just about eat your face off if you aren’t lathering it on.
Take a Breather at Sunset: This takes time. Patience is the name of the game. Plus, you’re probably anchored in a pretty gorgeous location. Smell the spruce, and start fresh the next morning.
Continue Working it Down: Proceed as before.
Install it: There may be different reactions when the new tiller slides in perfectly the first time. Some may go “No fucking way. I can’t believe it worked” while others go “I never doubted it for a second.”
Name It: In this instance, Reid affectionately named it “the Whale Dick Tiller.” I hope he does something special with it.
Part 8: Midway Reef
All was right in the world as we sailed past Traders Island and Midway Reef. The sailing was good, the sky as blue as can be, and our tiller was holding up flawlessly. We were in our element and a shit-eating grin was plastered on each of our faces. Whatever this “life” thing is, we were doing alright.
As we pushed out and into Chatham Strait, Uncruise Safari, a small cruise yacht mozied past Pt Thatcher. They were hugging the shore to offer their tourists a glimpse at the whales we were listening to.
“How much camera gear do you think is on that boat?”
“Beats me, but more than this boat is worth.”
We laughed at the poor bastards on that boat; Shelling out $12k for their week of sailing. They weren’t driving, they weren’t singing with the sea lions, or listening to the whales. The road-less-traveled is pretty splendid.
Part 9: Reid Loves Garlic
It turns out Reid loves garlic. His love affair with it runs deep, and I’m confident his garlic-heavy diet is a big cause of his constant farting and body noises.
We anchored in Freshwater Bay after catching fish for dinner. I cleaned the fish and organized up on deck while Reid prepped the fire and garlic. By the time I climbed back down below decks, he’d minced a cigarette box-worth of garlic.
“Jesus christ, dude. That’s more garlic than I’ve had in the last month.”
“It’s good for digestion. The only reason you were able to take that shit yesterday was because of it.”
Our deeply philosophical conversation changed course slightly;
“If I could have any superpower, it would be to sleep, piss or shit anywhere and anytime I’d want. I don’t know how you do it.”
Needless to say, Reid cleaned the cast iron skillet dry after dinner. There wasn’t a lick of garlic left in that damn pan. If you’re gonna sail with Reid, be ready to smell like garlic for a month afterward.
Part 10: At Anchor in Freshwater Bay
We are taking a day at anchor to breathe and recover from yesterday’s excitement. The beauty of a sailboat is that it enables you to hear the environment’s nuances. Sailing on a motor boat or ship means there’s a constant drone in the background and much of this gets drowned out. A harbor porpoise gently graces the placid water as it ducks into an inlet in Freshwater Bay. Being on the water is where I want to be, but my head runs to a thousand different places.
It runs to Morgan’s funeral and that piercing rifle salute. Reid talked this morning about wanting to learn to fly. Most of that is inspired by a sense of adventure, but I can imagine he’ll have her as his guardian angel.
It runs to that conversation with Kensey on the porch about being able to lift up roots at a moment’s notice.
It runs to that overwhelming sense of power that falling in love with Carly has brought. There’s still a part of me that feels like it’s the scariest thing I’ve ever done.
It runs to this region’s history - Both recorded and unrecorded. How a place so raw, so powerful can be so well-documented but feel undiscovered.
It runs to work and how pointless it seems in the grand scheme of things. Is it worthwhile pursing a life advancing technology all in the name of “progress?”
It runs to this deep-seated desire to grow both out and down in life. To discover parts of the world you don’t know exist each day, both locally and globally.
Part 11: Kachina’s Hearth
Kachina
In her 60 years
Of sailing bitter waters and howling winds
Across Alaska and Beyond
Has kept her sailors safe to recount the world’s beauty.
After long days in the fog and drizzle,
The wind and rain,
She’d restore her sailors
With her wood stove heart.
For the eight days
Reid and I cruised Baranof and Chichagof,
We would recoup from
The fog
The wind
The spray
And rain
Huddled around her sweet, sweet hearth.
My grandfather would always say
“Wood feels different”
It’s kindling to the soul on the coldest days.
That warmth is the same
I feel for you as I lose myself
In your soul.
Life’s storms can leave you feeling
Ragged.
Worn.
Exhausted.
Afraid.
But just as Kachina’s hearth was
Our unwavering solace
So too is one glimpse
Into your gentle blueberry eyes.
Part 12: Tenakee Spring
Tenakee is a… unique town, even by Alaskan standards. Go experience it to believe it.
Part 13: Old Couple Bickering
You throw two hard-headed people on a 25’ boat for a while, and there will be moments that strain patience to its limits. It comes with the territory.
One of the more comical moments came as we neared Juneau on the Fourth of July. Our voyage was coming to a close, and we both wanted to get to the pier. We were coming into a head-on situation with a small research fishing boat. As we got closer, we were setting up for a Starboard-to-Starboard passing. I was on the rudder, with Reid on the binoculars. Starboard-to-Starboard is unusual, but not necessarily unsafe. Either way, communication (sometimes) helps to make sure everyone is on the same page. This time it didn’t.
I asked “Do you want me to come to starboard?”
“Yep” (so I heard).
I thought ‘weird, but okay. He must see something I don’t.
“Roger. Coming over.” and I kicked the rudder over and started turning to the right.
“I said NOT YET.”“The FUCK, I heard YEP.
Fifteen seconds later, we were back to savoring the sun. You know you are deep into a friendship when you can be “pissed off to the bone” and then back to laughing the next hour having reset.
